


A Soft Place To Fall

by bigbbygrl



Series: Beloved 'Verse [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Coping, Gen, Hospitalization, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 09:07:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28704138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigbbygrl/pseuds/bigbbygrl
Summary: Sam is trying to cope after Dean's death by going on the hunt he got a call about, out in Austin, Texas. Things go south pretty fast, and it ends up being more than he can handle in his current headspace. Jody and Donna come to the rescue. (You don't need to have read part one, but it'll make a little more sense if you do.)
Series: Beloved 'Verse [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2104134
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	A Soft Place To Fall

It’s his third day working as Agent Bon Jovi on this case. It’s obviously werewolves, but Sam still can’t pin down who exactly is causing the body count. He’s down to a few suspects, but nothing solid enough to start dropping bodies himself. He found a motel out on the edge of town, the only one that would let him lodge with Miracle, and decided to make that the spot he would hole up for the run of this case. It was a pretty sketchy place, but he had confidence in his ability to protect himself, and there was no way he was going to stay somewhere without Miracle. He had kind of become Sam’s emotional support dog in a way, running to him and licking his hand whenever Sam was having a hard time. And, he was kind of Dean’s. To drop him somewhere would just be cruel. Granted, as much as he loves the pooch, having the constant reminder of Dean may not be helping either.

Every time he enters his room, there is a very tiny part of him that expects Dean to be sitting on the bed, eating disgusting junk food, wiping grease all over the bed sheets, listening to what he felt like listening to that day. Finding one that accepted pets turned out to be more of a pain than he expected, so Sam doesn’t even remember to ask for a king, and ends up with two queens, which makes that expectant feeling really strong, and the letdown even worse. He tries to go to the front desk to switch rooms, but the clerk won’t let him without paying again, which wouldn’t be worth it. So he starts working. He takes out his laptop, and digs through random sites for a while. He works on his Crazy Wall for a bit, finally narrowing his scope down to two suspects. He supposes it could be both of them, but he wants to be sure.

It’s a few hours later when he hears a loud thump on the wall, and distinct whimpering. He groans and tries to ignore it, after all, it’s a cheap motel in the middle of nowhere. And that works for a few more minutes, but then he can’t help himself from listening, and he quickly realizes that those are far from noises of pleasure. Miracle starts barking at the sounds, clearly distressed. The moans turn pained, and when a hair-raising scream rips through the air, Sam is immediately on his feet and out the door. 

He kicks open the door to the room next door in seconds, and busts through, pointing his gun towards the bed. Surely enough, there is a young girl, couldn’t be over twenty, lying there, tied down. The man above her jumps up and bares his teeth. Yep. Werewolf. Sam fires off two shots, but both are dodged as the creature advances towards him, knocking the gun away before Sam could fire off a third.

“Stupid move, bringing a gun to a wolf fight,” The man growls as he rakes Sam’s arm with his claws. Sam lets out a pained gasp, but tries to keep it under wraps, however painful it is.

The werewolf growls again and lunges for Sam, digging his claws into the sides of Sam’s arms, drawing a scream from his lips. The little fucker was fast, he’ll give it that. It leaned it and tried to bite at Sam’s throat. Sam kicks and flails, not letting the guy do much except hold on. After exhausting all other options, he manages to head-butt the creature, a signature Dean move, and it staggers backwards, holding his nose, blood clearly leaking from it, and growls again. reaches behind him with his right hand, and pulls out the silver blade he had kept there ever since he got put on this case. 

“Stupid move,” Sam laughs breathlessly, “Bringing a wolf to a hunter fight.” 

The creature growls again and starts stalking towards him. Sam assumes a fighting stance, trying to ignore the acute pain and blood dripping down both of his arms. He smirks, feeling in his element once again, and ducks as the bastard rushes him, causing it to go right over his right shoulder, grazing it’s stomach with his blade. The werewolf howls in pain, but rises to its feet, ready for the next blow. 

Sam rises up to his full height and takes a cautious step towards it, brandishing the silver blade. He gets low again and readies himself for impact as the creature lunges for him again. This time it fakes him out, and Sam ends up with his back hitting the floor, a lot harder and faster than he would have liked. Sam quickly moves the knife towards its heart, but is blocked and ends up pushing the blade clean through the thing’s hand. It howls in pain again, and dives for Sam’s throat with its teeth. He holds it back, but his arm slowly starts giving out against the creature’s weight. He needs to do something. Fast.

“You know,” Sam huffs out, “You can kill me, but that won’t stop anything. There’s people who will come looking. More hunters, like me. They’ll track you down.”

“You think I don’t know who you are?” The werewolf snaps in between attempts to get it’s teeth around Sam’s neck. “Fuckin’ Winchester. You’ll be the death of me no matter what. Might as well get a little fun out of it.”

“True, but the thing is-- GAHHH!” Sam gets cut off as it finally digs its teeth into the meat between his shoulder and neck. Sam can feel his own flesh ripping as the monster sharply pulls away. Being momentarily distracted, Sam can’t stop the werewolf before it drags it’s craws down his stomach, ripping his shirt and flesh to shreds. Sam lets out another wail before twisting his own body harshly away is a desperate attempt to escape. He faintly hears the girl screaming from the bed as the werewolf sits back to admire his handiwork. Sam claws and squirms a few feet away as the monster roars a laugh. 

“The great and powerful Winchester! Not so great without your big brother to come save you, eh? Where is Dean by the way? I heard he got dead, but well, that doesn’t really add up because… Well you're still alive.”

“Don’t-- Don’t fuckin’ say his name. You bastard.” Sam grates out between heaving breaths. 

“Ah, so big brother did kick it. How are you holding up by the way? Not lookin’ too good there.” The werewolf bellows in laughter again, and stands up, kicking at Sam’s leg. Sam struggles to his feet, pressing his left hand against his neck wound, and wielding his blade with his right.  
“Ooh, ready for round two? Put ‘em up, Sammy!” It chuckles, and wipes the blood off of it’s face, eyeing Sam’s condition. Sam doesn’t make a move. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

Sam stumbles as it walks towards him once again. This is his chance. Sam lunges forward, despite the fact that he is barely standing. He lets himself fall towards the beast, and digs the silver knife into it’s chest. It grunts at the impact, then gazes up at Sam in fear and awe. 

“Don’t. Call. Me. Sammy.” He whispers as he pushes the blade deeper. The werewolf lets out a strangled cry before going still seconds later. Sam looks away as it’s eyes glaze over, and rolls over on the floor until he is facing the girl who is still strapped to the bed. He is able to get to his knees and starts undoing the restraints. 

“Thank you, thank you, I’m so sorry, thank you,” The girl chants to Sam, tears running down her face in pure gratitude. He shoots her a weak smile and continues working. 

He takes in his surroundings, only getting a glimpse before getting pummeled. The room is dark and dingy, set up almost identical to his own. He looks over the girl, who is hiding her bare chest with her newly freed arm. He didn’t even realize before, but she had on nothing but her underwear, with multiple thin scratches trailing down her abdomen. He feels a wave of nausea rise up at the thought of what the bastard was planning to do to her. Sam starts to work faster, desperate to just get the hell out of here. Once Sam gets her second arm free, she starts working on the restraints on her ankles. Sam’s hands stop working and he leans on the bed against his side.

“Sorry,” He mumbles as he slides to the floor.

“No, oh my god, don’t apologize. Wait, please, stay awake. Please don’t die,” The girl sobs as she finishes untying herself. She stands up on shaky legs and sits on the floor next to him. 

“Please, please…”

“Okay, alright, fuck…” Sam tries to sit up. He takes his jacket off, the only clothing he has that isn’t completely torn to shreds, and hands it to her. “I’m gonna bleed out. Uh, n-next door. Get my duffle from next door.”

She nods and wraps the jacket around herself. She lays a blanket over his shoulders and stumbles out the door. 

________

No no no no no no no no… Wake up, dammit. Think about what Dean would say. He would be so disappointed. You aren’t going to break your promise to him, are you? You need help. You need to call for help NOW.

Sam blinks awake slowly, and doesn’t know where he is. Nothing looks right, and the room is spinning. He tries to move, but his muscles scream in protest. He moans softly as the world slowly slips away from him again. He hears the sound of footsteps across the room, and hears a gasp as something drops to the floor.

“Sir! Please wake up sir. Please wake up.” The girl begs. A wave of nausea hits him and he gags, trying to will himself to not throw up. He feels the girl’s hands on his face and tries to blink away the exhaustion. He tries to sit up, and feels the blanket peel away from his skin as he rises from the floor, causing another wave of nausea to wash over him. 

“Oh god! Don’t get up! Stop!” The girl shouts at him. He waves her away and reaches for the duffel that she had dropped next to him. He reaches in and pulls out his med kit. 

“Heh, don’t worry,” he slurs to her. He hears a high pitched sound and turns his head to the door, where Miracle is sitting. 

“Aw, c’mere boy,” He calls out. Miracle runs to him and licks at his hand. “Yeah, I know. Blood loss is a bitch, huh?” He smiles and turns his attention back to the first aid kit. He snaps it open, pulling out an unlabeled bottle and laughs. Dean never labeled things. It was probably something for pain, but whether it would be ibuprofen or opioids would be a mystery until he swallowed them down. He tosses two into his mouth and swallows them dry, which is more than unpleasant, but he can’t really care right now. He looks up and sees the girl staring at him with wide, helpless, tearful eyes. 

“Uh, y-you okay? You should call 911,” Sam stutters. His tongue feels too big in his mouth, and words don’t make sense. The room spins again as the girl nods and starts looking around for a phone. Sam turns to Miracle and starts talking to him as he tries desperately to patch himself up with the limited supplies he has at his disposal.

“Hey, I’ve had worse, ya know. ‘Member that time… I, uh, I was shot by a fuckin’ what’s it called? I had to walk like… A lot. Damn. An-- an’ I r’member… Fuckin’, Lucifer. When he was all up in my head… That was… ‘Member that?” He looks to Miracle expectantly, then laughs. The girl glances over, clearly concerned, but finds a phone and starts dialing.

“Talkin’ to a dog. ‘Course you don’t remem-- re… You weren’t ev’n there.” Miracle keeps whining, and Sam drops the gauze. He fumbles around, trying to get a better hold of it, before giving up and holding the blanket to his oozing wounds instead. Who was he kidding. He couldn’t patch himself up if he was bleeding out. The girl starts speaking on the phone, but her voice seems so far away. 

“Dean was there. He-- he helped me. D’you think he’d help me if he were here? Prob’ly would. He’s good like that. He’s so good. He’s the best… In the whole wide world…” Sam slurs as he starts to drift off again. The girl turns to him and shakes his non-wounded shoulder, still talking to the phone. He smiles at the girl, trying to reassure her that he’ll be fine. And he tries to stay awake for her. He really does. But there is just so much pain, and sleep sounds so good right now…

________

Sam, hey, you gotta talk to me man. 

“I don’t wanna.”

C’mon Sammy. Why’d you-- What if dad found out? 

“Fuck dad.”

Sam… Is he the reason you’re doing this?

“No.”

Then what? Is it something I did?

“Of course not. Don’t even think that.”

Tell me man, come on. I just wanna help you. You gotta let me help you. Please.

Please.

Please Sam.

Sammy.

Sam...

“Sam?” A voice echoed as bright lights burned his eyes. Sam’s mouth was way to dry and his throat felt hoarse. He tried to reply, but it sounded like someone else’s voice. He moaned and tried to blink, desperately wanting to regain any of his senses back to full capacity, but it felt like his eyes had turned to cotton. 

“Dean?” Sam wondered aloud. His voice sounded all fucked up.

“It’s okay, just relax,” Whoever the voice was coming from grabbed his hand and held on. It was obviously a woman, but the small hands felt warm. Like tiny versions of Dean’s hands, calloused in all the same places from various guns and weapons. But this wasn’t Dean. It couldn’t be. Dean was dead. And he sure as hell wasn’t a woman. And… wait a minute. These lights were way too bright to be his motel room. Sam could feel panic rising in his chest, and immediately heard his brain yell at him.

THIS IS WRONG. YOU NEED TO GET OUT. FIGURE OUT WHERE YOU ARE.

He gave up on trying to see against the blinding lights and focused on getting himself to move. He was able to pull his hand away from the woman and turn away. Although it seems impossible at how heavy his body feels, after all, he is probably heavily drugged, he figured that much, he manages to twist enough to get to the other edge of his bed. He meant to step out of it gracefully, but his legs give up much quicker than he would like to admit, and he hears several people raise their voices as he falls over the side of the bed. But one sticks out above the rest.

“No! Stop Sam! It’s me, Jody! No, wait, don’t grab him--” 

Sam feels hands grip his arms and he immediately goes into defensive mode. He uses his drugged state to his advantage and goes limp, causing whoever is holding him to grunt with effort. Once he feels the hands start to slip he pushes a hand against the man’s face. Hard. He hears the man tumble backwards and assumes a defensive position. He stands, muscles still screaming, as he lets the information he soaked in be re-evaluated by his brain. 

Okay, there’s a guard. I was in a bed, so not a prison. Maybe a hospital? A guarded one? Mental ward? But how is Jody here? Definitely a hospital, then, if I have a visitor. Okay, but why am I here? What the fuck happened?

“Ugh, fuck,” Sam growls as he feels his legs start to give out.

“How the hell is he on his feet? With the amount of sedative we gave him… It wouldn't be possible,” He hears a nurse whisper. He breathes out a sharp laugh, and steadies himself against the bed as he blinks rapidly, trying to clear his vision. 

“I’m Sam Fucking Winchester, that’s how,” Sam hears his voice rumble, feeling it in his throat like gravel. He hears Jody laugh. He blinks again and takes in his surroundings. 

There are two female nurses standing near the door, and the male nurse, who Sam assumed had grabbed him, was on the floor wiping at his bloody nose. It isn’t a private room, he can see the curtain splitting the room into two, but he can’t tell if there is someone on the other side. If there is, he makes a mental note to apologize to them later. He spares a glance at Jody, who, despite her carefree laugh and energetic demeanor, looks like she hadn’t slept in days. He gives her a quick smile, but spares the questions. His memory slowly is coming back to him, and the last thing he wants is to worry Jody any more. 

Sam hears shifting to his right and the male nurse is back on his feet, coming at Sam with a more cautious gait. Jody quickly gets between them as Sam tenses, ready to fight off anyone who comes near him. She pushes on the nurses chest, and shakes her head.

“PTSD. That’s why he wasn’t restrained. When he wakes up, he sometimes doesn’t know where he is.” The explanation rolls off Jody's tongue easily. Sam has heard the same lie a thousand times, but the truth of it rings through more painful than usual. But he tries to ignore it, instead focusing on being grateful the Jody made sure they didn’t restrain him. That nurse would’ve ended up with a lot more than a bloody nose. 

He feels the adrenaline that got him to his feet start to slip away, and he knows he needs to sit down soon, or his body is gonna sit him down itself. Jody seems to see that, and rushes over to him, helping him shift to the bed. She’s a pretty tiny lady, so it’s a little awkward, but he eventually gets situated back on the bed. He gives her a weak smile back when she beams at him in accomplishment. She turns towards the nurses.

“Okay, we’re good. You can leave now,” She says kindly, but sternly.

“I’m sorry Miss, but we don’t know if he’s stable. He will be under watch until his mental condition can be evaluated,” One of the female nurses voices meekly.

“We’ll be fine, trust me. I’ll watch him. I’m a cop,” Jody mentions. 

“Ma’am,” the other nurse begins, “we have highly trained staff here, he needs to be watched in case he gets violent again--”

“I’m a cop. A sheriff. I think I’ll be fine,” Jody reiterates with a sharp tone. Sam can see her kind and friendly demeanor slipping away fast, and hopes that the nurses take the hint and just leave. At least, part of him does. The other part of him wants Jody to leave. Leave him here with the creepy nurses and under trained staff. He really doesn’t want to talk to Jody. Unfortunately, the nurses accept defeat, and leave. Sam listens to the three of them tap down the hall and away from his room as Jody closes the door.

“Is there--”

“Room’s empty. It’s just us,” Jody interrupts, knowing what Sam’s first question would be. “You should lay down, you look like you’re about to fall over.”

“Okay.” Sam keeps his eyes on her as she comes closer. He shifts around until he is sitting as comfortably as he can be on the edge of the bed, and she pulls up the chair she had been sitting in earlier. 

“So... Werewolf?” She asks as she settles in. “It really got you good didn’t it? Almost bled out, Winchester, you should be more careful.”

Jody’s tone doesn’t match the words she’s saying, and everything feels wrong again. Sam looks away when he sees her hands shaking. His hands seem to mirror hers, and he can’t stop it like he used to be able to before. He twines then together and digs his thumb into the side of his hand, trying to quell the shaking. But it doesn’t really matter, no one else can recognize that particular little tell of his. No one else but… No one else but Dean. 

“The paramedics found you in the vic’s motel room. With a dog--”

“Is he okay?” Sam interrupts.

“What?”

“Is the dog okay?”

“Uh, yeah. It’s with Donna. She feels guilty for putting you boys on the case. We came here together when we got the call...” Jody pauses, as if there’s something else she wants to say, but moves on.

“They said you had heavy codeine and opioids in your system. How you managed that one is beyond me. Actually, I take that back. You boys never label your meds. Also, you had to get some stitches. They wanted to restrain you after you ripped out your arterial catheter and tore back open your neck wound. I told them not to; that it would make things worse. Don’t prove me wrong, okay?” 

“Wait, I what?”

“You don’t remember that, huh?” Jody laughs and pats Sam’s shoulder. “You woke up yesterday and clawed it out. You gave us quite a scare.”

“Yesterday? How long have I been here?”

“About a week.” Jody smiles sadly. “You were in a small coma for a little bit because you lost so much blood. Just came out of it yesterday.”

“Oh,” Sam voiced weakly. A fucking coma. Jesus. Sam snaps out of it as Jody clears her throat.

“So, uh, Donna’s getting some breakfast, then we’re outta here, ‘kay?” Jody questions. “I know how much you hate the hospital.”

“Right,” Sam clears his throat as well. “Thanks, Jody.”

“Anytime,” Jody replies. She eyes him for a moment, then reaches out and pats his knotted together hands. He gives her a quick smile.

“Ya really scared me there, kid. I mean, when I got the call…” Jody trails off and shakes her head. 

“Come ‘ere,” She mutters as she leans in and hugs him. It’s strange for Sam, how such a small woman can seemingly wrap herself around him so comfortingly.

He breathes in against her flannel, and catches the comforting scent . Not comforting like Dean, all gun oil, sweat, and cologne; but like what he supposes a mom should smell like. Laundry detergent, homemade meals, and cedar wood. Clean and safe. His mom never felt like this. He loved Mary dearly, but Jody was different. Mary had smelled like Dean, which was comforting in it’s own way, after all, Dean had been his mother and father figure for his whole life… 

A knock raps gently on the door, and Sam pulls away from Jody, wiping quickly at his eyes, clearing his tear-blurred vision so he can see who was there. Standing in the doorway is the girl from the motel. The once-nasty gash across her forehead had healed quite nicely, and she looked much better in general. She still carried herself meekly, but looked much stronger than before. Had more of a confident aire about her. Sam silently hopes she is getting therapy or something, because going through something like that, especially as an unsuspecting citizen, can be traumatizing. 

“Hey, I, uh, heard you were awake,” She begins shyly. Sam smiles and Jody tells her to come into the room with them. “I just wanted to see how you were doing and-- and I wanted to say thank you.”

“Of course. And you don’t have to thank me. It’s kinda my job,” Sam slowly speaks. Talking is still very unpleasant, and his voice sounds like old sandpaper, but he wants to tell her that all is well now. 

“Right,” She stutters, “Well, I wanted to ask you some questions, if that's okay. To uh, clear things up? Some things still aren’t really making sense and I just-- sorry. You’re probably tired.”

“No, it’s fine--”

“You can ask me, sweetheart,” Jody interrupts Sam, “We’re in the same line of business. And Sam here probably needs to get some rest, right?”

Jody guides the girl out the door, and closes it behind her. Sam is left to his own devices in the sterile silence of his hospital room. Alone with his thoughts and nothing else. As right as Jody may be about him needing rest, he really doesn’t think he can sleep here. Like she said, he hates hospitals. But he tries to sleep. Closes his eyes and everything. He even drifts off for a few minutes, but is soon jolted back awake by the image of blood and death dancing across the inside of his eyelids. 

After several minutes of rinse and repeat, Sam decides that enough is enough, and he’s not going to sleep either way. He slowly sits back up again and swings his legs over the side of the bed. There are a lot less wires on him then he thought there would be, but he supposes that since he came out of his coma yesterday, a lot of the monitors had been taken away. There is still an IV in his arm and a few monitors measuring his pulse and breath, miraculously not torn off from his altercation with the male nurse earlier. He scoffs and rips everything away. 

Sam climbs out of the bed, planting his feet on the ground, feeling less heavy and drugged than earlier. He takes a breath and steadies himself before slowly standing up. He sighs once he rises to his full height and stretches a little bit. God, it feels like he hadn’t moved in a year. His muscles all scream in protest as he starts to shuffle over to his duffle that Jody had brought in earlier. Once he finally reaches it, he pulls out clothes that are freshly cleaned and folded at the top. He smiles, making a note to thank Jody again. A hospital gown isn’t his idea of a fashionable outfit, so he slowly and carefully slides into his boxers and tugs on his jeans. They are far less comfortable, but he just wants to leave. 

“Hey!” Someone shouts from the doorway. Sam whips around, causing his head to spin. “You can’t take off your monitors. You are still under observation!”

The little tiny thing of a woman nurse stomps over to him as he turns away again to button up his jeans. He sighs and shuts his eyes closed tight, trying to will away the dizziness. 

“Listen--”

“Uh-uh sir. I don’t even wanna hear it. Back in bed. Now,” She says sternly. He faces her, opening his eyes, and smirks.

“You can’t tell me what to do,” He retorts. She stares at him, mouth agape. He chuckles and reaches behind himself to undo the hospital gown. He winces as the half-healed skin on his biceps pulls, but what stops him dead in the sharp pain by his neck. Yeah… He kinda forgot about that. 

“Lend me a hand?” He asks. She scoffs and turns heel, muttering something about getting Charles, who Sam assumes is the guy from earlier. He sighs and tries again. This time the pain is sharper and he feels something tear under the bandage that was covering the wound. He hisses and drops his hands away from his back.

“Fuck that,” He seethes, grabbing his duffle again. If Jody really cared about him she would’ve… Ah, bingo. Sam pulls out his silver knife at the bottom of the bag and turns it in his hands. That’ll do. He cuts the gown off of his body, and dives back into the duffle, opting for a button-up shirt, rather than trying to get a t-shirt on. He winces as he works the top buttons closed, but feels much more put together now that he’s out of that god-forsaken patient garb. He feels more in fighting shape, which makes him feel a lot safer. Especially with Charles on the way. Whoever that is. 

Sam gathers up everything and slings his bag over his good shoulder. He creeps to the door and slips out like a ninja. He still feels way too heavy and clumsy from a week of not using his muscles, and all his stitches pinch and pull whenever he shifts too much, fucking doctors don’t know-- Dean could’ve patched him up so much better. Would’ve had him up and moving, but into tip top shape by now. Oh well, at least he didn’t bleed out on the floor of a motel room. That’s an upside, he supposes. Although, there are worse ways to go. Maybe this wasn’t such a stroke of luck after all. He for sure could’ve died, and no one would really question it. He would’ve gone out fighting too, which is what Dean wanted, right?

Idiot, Sam told himself, Dean didn’t want that. And he didn’t want that for you, either. He wanted you to live ‘till eighty-seven, with 2.5 kids and a white picket fence. Not like that’ll happen. Sam chuckles harshly to himself as he continues down the windy, convoluted hallways of the hospital. Everything looks wrong. Too bright in the open, and too dark in the corners. It’s like someone took a photo and saturated the hell out of it. 

Sam takes the time he has walking down the hallway to rehearse his speech to Jody. He’ll have to at least tell her what happened with the hunt. But, then she’ll ask about Dean. And he’ll have to explain… Dammit. 

It would be so much easier to have died. Maybe even back when… I should’ve just died with Dean. Why am I still here? Why do I deserve life more than him? He was always the better one. The golden child. Dean deserved a life. He deserved a wife and kids and a white picket fence. He deserved a world without monsters. Not having to look over his shoulder every second, because something just might be there. Not waking up at 2AM in a pool of sweat and shaking because some things just never leave your subconscious. He should be alive. I should’ve died. I don’t deserve life. How am I supposed to do this? How am I supposed to do this without him? I should've died. I deserve to die.

“Sam? What are you doing?” Jody’s voice broke through his thoughts, and Sam found himself standing in the middle of the semi-empty hallway. All sterile and empty. Sam felt like he was looking into a mirror when he looked at those walls. Without Dean, he felt empty and sterile, void of anything but the desperate pull towards death. Even sadness was hard to muster at the moment. 

“Honey? You okay?” Jody asks, laying a hand on Sam’s bicep. Sam looks at her face, and the pure worry and concern that lay there, out for him to see, was the last straw. Some dam broke, way in the back of his head where it had been holding back the flood. Sam had cried too much, and he just couldn’t anymore. Until now. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Jody goes in for a hug, but Sam gently pushes her away, shaking his head. She looks up at him, confused and hurt. Sam bites the inside of his cheek, trying to quell the tears for a second, but he can’t stop. He can’t even say a word. 

“Shhh, it’s okay. Talk to me Sam, please,” Jody begs, grabbing his hand. Against his hands, hers look so tiny and fragile, but Sam knows they aren’t. Sam knows the things those hands have done. He shakes his head again, worried that if he tries to speak, everything would fall apart. He can’t do that in the middle of a hospital. 

“Okay, let’s get you out of here, alright? Then you need to sleep, and then we can talk about what happened.” Jody tugs on his arm, and he follows blindly and faithfully. They traverse the rest of the hospital together, and Jody never once lets go. He can’t tell her how much he appreciates it, but he hopes she knows. 

__________

Sam ends up drifting off during the car ride several times, but is yanked back awake by images of what could’ve happened if he didn’t get to that girl in time. But imaginary situations of the werewolf defiling the poor girl get too much, making him nauseated. Although that could just be from riding in Jody’s terrifying pick-up. Before long, Sam finds himself reaching out for the stereo dial before he can think better of it. Classic rock comes blasting out of the speakers for a few seconds before Sam shuts it off. Jody looks over at him, but he looks away before he can read her expression too closely.

Next time he looks over, Jody has tears in her eyes, and is biting her lip. He thinks maybe she’s figured it out. 

When they get to the bed and breakfast Donna and Jody were staying at, Sam and Jody both get out of the truck quickly, in a desperate attempt to leave the many unsaid words there. Like maybe if nothing is voiced, it doesn’t have to be true. 

Sam doesn’t remember much, the exhaustion taking over again, but he remembers Jody guiding him up stairs and into a room. There was a bed, Sam recalls, that he had pretty much fallen onto, squeezing his eyes shut against the last of the light shining through the windows. He drifted off again, for a little bit, until he heard the door open. He listened close, able to pick out that it was Donna, and judging by the smell, she had brought food. He heard the tap-tap-tap of Miracle’s paws on the wood floors, and the excited whining as he found out that Sam was there. 

Sam cracked his eyes open just in time for the furry beast to jump up onto his chest, knocking the air from his lungs, and probably ripping out a few stitches along his stomach. He groans in pain, but laughs as Miracle covers him in doggy kisses. He batts him away from his face, and cuddles him to his chest, even if it did hurt a little bit. He smiled into Miracle’s fur, and buried his face into his side. He hears voices from outside the small bedroom, coming from the small apartment-like set up outside. 

“Yeah, he had a PTSD attack in the hospital when he woke up. Then as we were leaving he… I don’t even know. He won’t talk and-- and I just want to help.”

“Aw, Jodes, you’re helpin’ just by being here for him. He’ll talk in his own time.”

“I know, I’m just worried…” Jody trails off. There is a long pause and the sound of Donna walking towards Jody, then the shifting of fabric and the creak of wood. 

“What about?” Donna asks. 

“Well, where’s Dean in all of this? Those two boys… There’s no way they would separate, you know? And… I can’t help going to places I don’t wanna even think about.”

“What do you mean? You don’t think Dean’s…?”

“I don’t know what to think. And if-- If something happened-- I don’t even know-- I don’t know what I would do.” Jody’s speech is interlaced with sobs, and the sound of Donna’s quiet crying and hushing is too much for Sam. 

He gets up from the bed silently, despite his protesting muscles, and goes to the bathroom that’s built off of the bedroom, shutting the door behind him. It’s a beautiful bathroom, all grey, white, and glass… Something he probably shouldn’t be appreciating right now, but does anyway. It’s so clean. He looks at himself in the mirror, his dirty, un-showered, tired self, corrupting all the clean. He starts the shower, putting it as hot as it can go. He looks down at his shirt, speckled with blood that he was sure wasn’t there before. He undoes the buttons, revealing his red, angry, welting, scarred skin underneath. He didn’t get a good look at it in the hospital, good thing too, he probably would’ve gone right back up to those doctors and tell them to redo it. Sam has done enough suturing in his time that he knows what bad stitching looks like. 

“Damn,” He whispers. He runs his right-hand thumb down one of the stitched lines on his stomach, one of the longest ones, going from up underneath his chest, all the way down, almost past his waistband. He chuckles darkly.

“Fucker really did some damage,” He muses, starting to peel the white bandage away from the stop between his neck and shoulder, trapezius muscle, his brain helpfully supplies. 

Sam winces as he takes in the damage. It’s pretty bad, he’s not gonna lie. No wonder he was in a blood-loss coma for a week. Honestly, he’s surprised he wasn’t under for even longer. There is clearly flesh missing, and the skin is pulled tight where the doctor tried to stitch him back together. The other stitches were obviously done hastily, but Sam is actually impressed by these ones. He doesn’t think he could’ve done half as good on that nasty of an avulsion, especially considering that he had ripped it back open yesterday, at least, according to Jody. He doesn’t remember doing any of that, which is good, he supposes. Although, he can’t think of why he would’ve done such a thing. 

Sam brings his hand up, and traces the newly stitched line with his index finger. It hurts like hell, but a small smirk rises on his face. Dean probably would’ve bitched about Sam letting the bastard get to him. He would’ve yelled at Sam, but fix him up anyway. Then he would knock him out with meds and whiskey, and Sam wouldn’t have to rip at his wounds, because it would be okay. Because it would have been Dean there, and Dean knows-- Dean knew, how to take care of his Sammy. 

Sam looks at himself in the mirror again, unaware that he had completely zoned out. Blood trickled down his arm where he had started absently ripping at the stitching again.

“Fuck, dammit, aw fuck,” Sam grabs the hand towel hanging by the sink, looking away as he soils the pristine white of it with his deep red blood. He presses it down until it hurts, and undoes his jeans with his left hand. He inspects his legs before opening the shower door, cataloging every bruise. A few were there before, along with countless old scars, but there are a few that weren’t there before, although faded now, he can tell they were new ones. 

Sighing, he strips his boxers with his unoccupied hand, and turns on the small space heater built into the wall. He doesn’t think he can remember the last time he was warm while taking a shower, and takes full advantage of it. He then opens the shower door. He lets the hand towel lay over the freshly opened wound, knowing that it would have hurt before, but now that it’s open, he’s not gonna dare let the water hit it directly. So he steps in gingerly, whimpering quietly as the scorching water hits his skin. His body automatically shies away from the heat, and he turns it down, having to remind himself that this isn’t some crappy motel room where the water doesn’t even get warm until you twist the dial all the way to the left. 

Sam stands there, facing away from the spray, letting the water cascade down his back, burning off all the sweat and blood and hospital grime. He tilts his head back, letting the water hit his hair. It’s almost euphoric, getting clean after being dirty for so long. He smiles at the fond memory of the time he broke his arm when he was a kid, and Dean had to help him shower for a week, until he finally got the hang of it. Sam reaches up and runs his fingers through his wet and heavy hair, scratching at his scalp lightly, the way Dean would whenever he would have nightmares. The spray trickles down his neck, and although he had the towel to protect it, the water bites ruthlessly into his wound and Sam blinks back tears. Whether they’re from the memory or the pain, well, it doesn’t matter. 

He finally turns to the spray, ready to brave the sting of the water hitting the gashes on his stomach. He lets the water hit his face first, breathing a sigh as it washes away the days of dirt and sweat and tears. He sits like that for several minutes, then finally brings the rest of his body forwards. He yelps and hisses as the water finally hits the long scratches, but lets it do it’s thing. There’s no fucking way he’s using soap, so he tries to endure the pain for as long as possible. After Miracle jumped on him, some of the wounds started bleeding, but only the really serious ones, so he stays under the flow until the water that is at first tainted pink runs clear. 

Sam desperately scrubs at his uninjured skin, trying to strip away everything. The pristine white bathroom felt way too clean for him to be in, corrupted by so many years of shit. Just like the hospital. He scrubs at his arms until they turn red, washes his hair more times than he can count, and strips the skin on his thighs until they burn. He turns the water cold, reveling in the feel of it on his now rug-burned skin. He stands directly under the spray, letting the cold water sluice down his face and back until the flashbacks to being tortured by the British Men of Letters become too strong. Behind those flashbacks, there might be something that happened in the cage with Lucifer, but it feels like lifetimes ago. He chuckles, telling himself that he’s probably the only person in the world who could go through that and barely even remember it. Although, maybe that's just a trauma response. 

He doesn’t realize he’s shivering until he comes back from spacing out. It feels like it’s been a few seconds, but he knows it’s probably been way longer. He found chunks of time missing recently, and was worried that something might be possessing him again, but he researched it and realized that it was probably just panic attacks. Apparently they come in all sorts of packaging. He’s just glad that this time he was still breathing normally. Well, maybe not completely normally. But that could just be the cold. Sam reaches to the faucet and shuts off the water, his body instantly trying to warm itself up after the ice bath he gave himself. 

Sam opens the door to the shower, and is bombarded by the heat from the heater. He forgot he had turned it on. His stomach immediately reacts to the heat, lurching even though there is nothing in it. Stumbling, he steps out of the shower and shuts the heater off. Going from the freezing water to the hot air makes him dizzy and nauseous. It’s really not even that hot, but after his little moment in the shower, Sam feels more sensitive than ever. He feels himself start to panic, and uses that to his advantage. He pulls on his boxers, unlocking and opening the bathroom door, letting the cold air cascade into the tiny room. He stumbles out, and collapses onto the bed face first, letting his body sink into the mattress. 

__________

He awakes later, not realizing he had fallen asleep again, to Jody gently shaking his shoulder and Miracle licking his hands. He flips onto his back slowly, his head still pounding, whether it was from what happened earlier or his hunger, he wasn’t sure. He is still just in his boxers, but Jody’s hand feels comfortingly cold against his skin that still feels as if it were on fire. It was probably from the scrub down he gave himself. He used to do that a lot when he was at Stanford, he recalls, when everything felt too clean and untouched by monsters, and he felt like a dirty smudge in the lives of the people there.

“Hey Sam,” Jody says gently, her voice slightly hoarse, “Donna got food, but it feels like you have a fever. I can make you soup or something instead.”

“Uh, no, it’s fine. Thank you,” Sam croaks. He still doesn’t understand his own voice. But maybe it stopped working when Dean died. Maybe it never worked without him. 

“Okay hun, I’ll bring it in. Unless you want to see Donna?” 

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be out in a few.”

“Alright,” Jody smiles sadly, making Sam wince internally, and she walks to the door. She stops, putting a hand on the door frame, half-turning back to Sam. “You know, you are gonna have to talk about it. I put two and two together, Sam, but I need to hear it from you.”

Her voice cracks on the last few words, and she flees the room, Miracle on her heels, leaving Sam alone. Shit. Sam really had hoped that Jody wouldn’t dredge it back up once she knew. He gets up on shaky legs, his mind running a mile a minute, trying to rehearse what to say to the two women in the next room. He feels another wave of nausea, and makes a break for the toilet. He falls to his knees and dry heaves for what feels like hours. When he finally stands up again, pulling on jeans and a t-shirt hastily, not bothering to wrap his wounds, he looks in the mirror. His hair is matted on one side of his head, and his face is red and sweaty. He sighs and splashes cold water on his face, finger-combing his hair away from his face. A little better. 

When he finally emerges from his room, Jody and Donna are sitting next to each other and the four-seat table, talking in hushed voices. They stop when Miracle runs to the door, jumping on Sam. He chuckles and leans down, giving Miracle belly-rubs as he tips over. He looks up and catches a small, fond smile on Jody’s face. Donna however, jumps up and runs over, pulling him into one of her patented bear hugs. He can’t help but smile and lean into it. When they part, he smacks his head, and tuts at him.

“Gave me a freaking heart attack,” she sighs, “You be more careful next time, alright?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Sam laughs. He looks to Jody, the secret smile she had been sporting before turned more genuine and happy as she watches them. He smiles back, although it takes more effort than he would care to admit. Donna herds him towards the table, and drops a styrofoam box in front of him, then takes her seat again. He opens it, revealing a delicious looking meal of fish ‘n chips, but the thought of eating anything sends his stomach back into fits. He swallows down and forces a smile. Donna and Jody give each other a look, and Jody gets up, rummaging through the fridge. Donna’s eyes follow her, but she turns her attention back to Sam.

“So, can I ask about the dog?” She looks at him earnestly, and he’s tempted to say yes, but he shakes his head. She nods and changes the subject. “Okay, let's talk about the case you were on here. First off, I am so sorry. I know I referred you--”

“No, no, don’t be sorry. I was just stupid. This isn’t your fault.” Sam interrupts. Donna has a bad habit of blaming herself for things, so he nips it in the bud. Although, knowing her, she’s probably been torturing herself with it for the past week anyway. 

“Okay then. Wanna tell me how that Werewolf kicked your ass so effectively then?” She smirks and Sam can’t help but smile back. He scoffs, and Jody comes back, setting a cobb salad and saltines in front of him. 

“Thanks,” he mumbles, ripping open the crackers and nibbling on one, “I was at the motel. That’s where I was staying. I heard something from the next room over and ran in half-cocked. It was stupid. Not a big deal. Won’t happen again.”

“Better not,” Jody huffs, leaning back in her chair.

“I’m really sorry for making you come all the way out here--”

“No. Nuh-uh. That is not what I am mad about Winchester,” Jody interrupts Sam. He ducks his head and bites his lip. “You defeat fucking God, only give me a call once to let me know you are still alive, disappear for months, and next thing I know, you are bleeding out in a hospital somewhere in Austin, Texas.”

“I just--”

“I’m not finished, boy. The first thing you did when you woke up was rip open your neck wound, and now you won’t talk, I can count about four panic attacks you’ve had, probably more… and--” She clears her throat, “I want to know what happened.”

“Wha-- I just told you what happened.”

“No Sam. I want to know what happened. Where is Dean.”

Sam swallows the growing lump in his throat. He knew where this was going the second Jody started talking, but it still hit him like a ton of bricks to hear her actually ask him. He feels his hands start to shake, and he puts down the half-eaten cracker, twining his hand together in his lap. He digs his right thumb into his left hand until he feels the skin break, and digs again, feeling blood trickle onto his jeans. It’s fine, it's fine, it’s fine, he chants in his head, trying to will himself to believe it. 

“Uh, he, um,” Sam stutters, trying to find the right words when everything sounds so wrong. No words form in his mouth and his head goes blank. Everything he had rehearsed flies out the window. He startles when he feels Donna’s hand on his shoulder, not even aware that she had gotten up.

“It’s okay Sam. Take your time.”

“Mmm,” He nods, squeezing his eyes shut. He needs to tell them. It’ll be better once he gets it out there. So Sam takes a deep breath, leaning more into Donna’s comforting hand, and looks Jody in the eyes. She’s already crying, but he forces the words out anyway.

“De-- uh. D-Dean died.” Jody’s eyes well up the second the words fall off of his tongue, and he looks away, feeling his own tears start to come on. Donna rubs his shoulder as Jody stands up and walks over. She hovers by his left, the side not occupied by Donna, and presses herself close, hugging him tightly as they both tremble with unshed tears. Donna joins in on his right, hugging him close, slinging an arm over Jody as well. 

“It’s okay Sam,” Jody says, surprisingly steadily, “I know it doesn’t feel like it. God knows, I know. But please believe me. I know why you were reckless on this hunt, and I’m begging you, please don’t leave us just yet.”

Sam looks at Jody, who pulls away a little to look him in the eye. 

“I’m going to say something, but you have to promise not to freak out on me, okay?” She says with a little chuckle. Sam nods, though he’s not sure what on earth it could be.

“When I lost my husband and son… God, it was so hard. And that doesn’t even begin to explain it. I still think about them. And Dean… I know he was more to you than that.”

“Wha--”

“No, just, hear me out,” Jody leans back and holds Sam’s face in her hands. “I’ve seen the way you look at each other. I know that you probably don’t think there was anything there, but what you two boys had… Well, it was something special. And it’s going to be hard, and it’s never going to stop hurting, but it does get easier. I promise. And we are here for you, okay? Me, and Donna, and all our girls… You have so many people who care about you, and who want to help. I love you, Sam. Both of you. My boys…”

Jody’s voice breaks, but she’s smiling. She hugs him again, tucking her face into his neck, and Donna runs her hand through Jody’s hair. He leans into the embrace, and lets the tears come. He’s still shaking, but it’s not racking his whole body. Donna grabs his hands, stopping him from doing anymore damage, and despite the blood, she holds them in her own, squeezing gently. With the embrace of these two strong amazing women, who feel more like family than anyone, even his own parents, things finally feel like they might be okay.


End file.
